Solitary
by YugamiYoshitsune
Summary: After Simon's release, his abrasive behavior still frequently scares people away. One night, while on his way home, he is brutally attacked by a lynch mob. As he is about to succumb to his injuries, he is struck by the thought that no one will miss the "Twisted Samurai" once he is gone...
1. Chapter 1

Simon Blackquill was not so naïve as to not realize that his regained freedom came with a hefty price tag. However, it only gradually dawned on him that he himself would be the one inadvertently driving up this price.

Things began with the celebration at _Eldoon's Noodles _the very evening on which he had been relieved from his shackles. He had been supposed to prepare himself for his final march, down the hall from his cell to the execution chamber, at this point; instead, he was outside, under the vast night sky, a bowl of steaming noodles in his hands. Everyone around him was laughing and having a good time, including Athena, who had taken a seat next to him. Notably, no one was volunteering to sit on the vacant chair on his other side.

Simon said little, pretending to concentrate on his food, as he was not entirely certain how to join the good-natured conversation. Freedom felt alien after seven long years behind bars, as bizarre as the lightness of his wrists.

Finally, Justice, sitting a few chairs down the merry round, gathered the courage to address him directly.

"So, um, Prosecutor Blackquill…? What are you gonna do now that you're free?"

The insolent smirk which he had always employed in his dealings with others for multiple years now came to his face all but automatically.

"We shall cross blades in court again after tonight, now that my life has been spared – and I would suggest that you stay on your guard, lest I cut you down due to lack of preparation, Justice-dono."

The young defense attorney blanched slightly. "Jeez, I was just asking…"

After Justice had turned away to converse with the Fey girl, Athena surreptitiously elbowed Simon in the side, but deliberately made no eye contact with him when he glanced over at her in surprise. The message was clear: _Stop scaring my co-worker_.

He let out a huff of breath and looked away. Perhaps his words had been too confrontational, but they had emerged by themselves. Apologies, on the other hand, felt wholly unnatural, like conceding a battle. He had already surrendered in that manner earlier at court, and he was not in the habit of taking back things he said if not under severe duress. Not anymore.

_This is who I am now._

* * *

><p>Two days later, after the predictable news storm around his exoneration, decided in an unofficial trial forced by a hostage situation, had reached its zenith, Simon had to participate in a press conference called by Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth.<p>

"This is as distasteful for me as it is for you, Mr. Blackquill," his superior confessed just prior to emerging into the large room set aside for this purpose, now filled with journalists. "Unfortunately, this is the only way to attempt setting the record straight."

The _record _– a pleasantly neutral word for various articles' speculations that Simon's release was just another symptom of the dark age of the law. That he had either managed to manipulate those who had fought for his verdict of 'not guilty,' or that those in charge of the justice system had conspired to keep one of their more useful puppets alive for the time being.

Simon knew his expression to be as grim as Edgeworth's when he nodded. A moment later, the two prosecutors entered the room through a side door, and were immediately inundated by camera flashes.

At first, the Chief Prosecutor spoke alone, guiding the journalists through the UR-1 retrial, which had not been accessible to the press. Every piece of evidence, every step which had been taken in the proceedings, was painstakingly explained.

Finally, the time to open up the floor for questions came, and predictably, one of the reporters spoke up with a question for Simon.

"Prosecutor Blackquill, I'm sure you are aware of the fact that many don't believe in your innocence, and will probably continue to suspect that you escaped execution due to foul play. After all, that _technique _Ms. Cykes used on you… who's to say that your words on the stand were legit and she wasn't conspiring with you? How is the public supposed to know that you and her weren't pawning off the guilt on a third party? Also, we have no official statement from the so-called 'Phantom,' seeing that he got conveniently shot…"

The journalist never got to his inquiry, as he was interrupted by a bark of laughter. Simon pierced the young man with a penetrating stare, a derisive smirk on his face.

"Hmph. People believe what they wish to believe. Occam's razor dictates that among competing explanations, the one with the fewest assumptions is the true one – but if you and your audience feel differently, let's just say that this, too, works in my favor. Should one convinced of my guilt find themselves involved in a crime which I am prosecuting in court, I assume that they will be _very _cooperative during their interrogation."

That statement got more than one of the present reporters to swallow nervously.

Now, Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth saw the need to jump into the worried silence which suddenly filled the room.

"I have to agree with Mr. Blackquill's overall assessment of the situation. We can do nothing but present the evidence to you, and hope to allay suspicion in that manner. If members of the general public still choose to see a conspiracy behind everything that has happened, we won't be able to change their opinion."

Simon nodded sharply after his superior had ended the rephrasing of his initial statement, knowing that Edgeworth had attempted to soften his words. However, he was also perfectly aware that the press would not go easy on him, no matter what he said. He had been a perfect story hook for years, first as a major headline, then increasingly as fodder for slow news days, but the bemoaning of the 'dark age of the law' had always featured him as one of its causes, as well as a primary symptom. To hope that they would buy into his innocence now would have been optimistic to the point of feeblemindedness.

No reporter addressed him for further statements, and when they finally left to get back to their offices, the downturned corners of his superior's mouth told Simon that this press conference had not gone as well as Edgeworth had expected.

* * *

><p>A week passed. At the moment, Simon was living at a hotel near the prosecutor's building, which was commonly used by those of his profession who were in a marital dispute or could not return home for other reasons. Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth was well-acquainted with the proprietor, apparently a former bellboy at the prestigious Gatewater Hotel, and had convinced him that his charge posed no danger regardless of the scandal-mongering rubbish the papers had printed after the unfortunate press conference.<p>

Finding a landlord who did not share the misgivings the coverage had reaffirmed proved to be difficult; Simon suspected that he would depend on this hotel for a while yet, until the general public realized that he would not suddenly cut someone down in cold blood. Only time would provide sufficient proof for this.

He was beginning to feel more at home at the office than at his current dwelling, which caused him to work late hours and weekends, bringing him into frequent contact with his colleagues who did likewise.

Of these prosecutors, Klavier Gavin ended up in quiet conversations with him more than once. Simon had not thought particularly highly of the blond rock star back in the old days. When he had first joined the prosecutor's office after passing the bar, Gavin had already been working there, hailed as a prodigy for prosecuting his first case at the age of 17 and almost unstandably smug due to constantly being in the limelight, buying into his own hype. However, in the last two years, multiple factors had put a damper on the younger prosecutor's attitude. For one, there had been the fact that his almost-win back then had been made possible by forged evidence Gavin's brother had commissioned and planted, and for another, the Gavinners had been disbanded after the guitarist, Daryan Crescend, had been found guilty of murder. At this point, Gavin was surprisingly down-to-earth, earnest, and, most importantly, not intimidated by Simon whatsoever. Perhaps this was why he found himself talking to the German on a regular basis, even if their conversation topics were not always the most intellectually stimulating.

Tonight, Gavin was prattling on about his regular visits to a nearby fitness studio, which had opened recently.

"It's a 24-hour place, state-of-the-art machines, running track, indoor basketball courts, and an Olympic-sized pool in the basement. Would you care to join me one of these days, Herr Blackquill?"

Simon let out a cynical huff. "And be treated to the other patrons hiding behind the exercise equipment at the sight of me? Don't be ridiculous."

Gavin's facial expression became surprisingly grave in an instant. "Ja, that situation is probably hard to avoid at first…"

_He understands. _Simon was taken aback. Perhaps notoriety always led to the urge to avoid others, regardless of how it was achieved and how it manifested. Perhaps he had misjudged what lay underneath the tanned and stylish façade for far longer than he had surmised.

And maybe, just maybe, letting himself be seen in a commonplace setting, accompanied by another person who did not cower before him, would eventually return normalcy to his life.

A small smile crept onto his lips. "… I might take you up on your invitation at a later time, Gavin-dono."

In return, he was treated to a megawatt version of his own smile – and a hand on his upper arm.

Barely hearing the platitude Gavin uttered (something like "I'm glad to hear that," though he would never be entirely sure), Simon tensed and growled under his breath, "Unhand me _at once_, if you would like to remain in possession of your fingers."

He regretted his words right away when the other man drew his hand back as if burned, a somewhat shocked expression on his face.

It was an unfortunate reflex, learned over more than half a decade of imprisonment – in the clink, physical contact between inmates was met with sanctions in most contexts, as a handshake could hide drug transactions, and a harmless, inadvertent push could snowball into a major confrontation. The only people who had touched Simon during this time had been guards and the counterfeit Fool Bright, to lead him to the visitation room, to the warden's office, to the courtroom. Touch meant an assertion of power from everyone but Athena, as her hand on his arm reminded him of that of an 11-year-old, quiet girl. Gavin was many things, but a guileless, preteen child, he was not.

No words of apology would come until the moment to utter them had passed.

Simon silently turned and strode away, closing his office door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Two steps forward, one step back – that was how the first weeks of freedom seemed to Simon in most regards. Rebuilding a life that he had thought to be long since forfeit was filled with obstacles, but he stoically soldiered on, aware that _he _was the source of most of his setbacks.

He had spent most of his adult life among hardened criminals, pretending to be one of them, only dropping the façade in the small hours of the morning, when he had known himself to be in as much privacy as he would ever be again. Grief had soundlessly surfaced. Tears had fallen. Dread had kept him awake. By night, he had allowed a small measure of his old self to keep itself alive – but by day, all of his time had been spent on acerbic put-downs, threats, and the blackest of gallows humor. It was the language that was universally understood inside the walls, a vernacular which had also proved effective in the courtroom… but it was thoroughly unusable in interactions with those not used to the abrasive personality he had acquired.

Intellectually, Simon _knew _that he would have to train himself out of automatically responding to kindness with derision, to jokes with belittlement, to the slightest off-putting comment with offers to taste his blade.

And yet…

_Hmph. Would that it were that easy for a leopard to change its spots._

He could not help keeping most people at arm's length; the only persons who truly seemed to understand that his words were to be taken with a large grain of salt were his sister and Athena.

Most of his colleagues avoided him. The detective assigned to him differed on a case-by-case basis, likely depending on which unfortunate member of the homicide division had drawn the shortest straw that day.

The story was about the same even with those who _knew _him to be innocent. Justice still did not seem entirely convinced that he did not have to fear random outbursts of violence from the ex-inmate. Gavin had never repeated his offer to take his colleague to the gym, and although their conversations had not ceased after the incident that day, it would have felt like pathetic begging to Simon to bring the subject up out of his own volition. Edgeworth, though not obviously dissatisfied with his subordinate's work, remained aloof – understandable, considering that he _was _in a superior position. Wright was difficult to read, and rarely to be found in the courtroom – he left the majority of his agency's cases to Athena and Justice. The few times Simon had run into him after the retrial, the man had seemed to vacillate between regarding him as an unruly puppy, and thinking him an out-of-control maniac.

And the general public… the less was said about _them_, the better. Recently, coverage about him had begun to be displaced by more interesting news material, especially since he had not presented the journalists with anything suitable to revive the jabber about his fearsome reputation. However, Simon was easily recognizable, and the populace apparently had a long memory when it came to him – people switched to the other side of the road when he approached, and he had learned to avoid live cashiers in favor of self-checkout lanes at the supermarket whenever possible, as he had had a few incidents of hands shaking so hard at the sight of him that his change had clattered to the floor.

The constant expressions of fear and distrust, though understandable, inspired a hint of defiance in Simon, try as he might to suppress it.

_As long as I know myself, you gormless fools don't matter._

Time would sooner or later release him from this strange solitary confinement without walls, whether it happened by enabling him to regain the personality he had left behind, or by others realizing that he did not exactly bathe in the blood of his fallen enemies every night.

Or at least, that was what Simon kept telling himself.

After finally finding a small furnished apartment in one of the less pleasant areas of town, as no one in more upscale neighborhoods would rent to him, yearly six-figure salary or not, he took to walking home through deserted back alleys if he had no shopping to do. There was no point in needlessly scaring people off the sidewalk, and he valued the quiet time for thinking his way through his cases. Taka only rarely accompanied him back to his place, as there was barely any room for the bird of prey to maneuver; furthermore, Simon preferred his office or roaming about out in the open to the small one-bedroom pad, anyway. He was not overly bothered by the fact that his neighborhood was regarded as dangerous – as much as he made just about everyone quake in their boots, he doubted that anyone would ever attempt to attack him.

This assumption should prove to be a fatal mistake on his part.

One night during his sixth week of freedom, he was on his way home somewhat later than usual, as he had spent most of the evening cooped up in his office preparing for tomorrow's trial. By now, he was familiar enough with the route that it did not take conscious effort to navigate the nearly lightless alleyways. For that reason, he did not realize that a group of people blocked his path until he was nearly upon them. There were young men with a multitude of tattoos, middle-aged construction workers, and fierce-looking women, brandishing an assortment of makeshift weapons – baseball bats, golf clubs, hockey sticks, one or two sledgehammers, even a cast-iron frying pan. A few had butterfly knives. Overall, there were maybe fifteen of them, and the way their hands tightened around the various items when he drew near told Simon that they had been waiting for _him_.

As soon as he sensed the danger, he turned on his heel, wordlessly walking in the opposite direction. Perhaps the mob would dissolve if he refused to enter the battle they were expecting.

He should not be so lucky. Another group of five stepped into his way, armed much in the same way as the people behind him. Simon slowly looked around, surveying his opponents and sizing up their strength, their weapons, his chances of escape.

It did not look good.

While Simon was not unversed in combat, fending off twenty armed assailants without his trusty blade was highly unlikely to be crowned with success, no matter his opponents' prowess when it came to violent confrontations. At least no one was in possession of firearms, as the Gun Control Act of 2022 had made it next to impossible for individual citizens not affiliated with law enforcement to own them, but that did not mean much, given the staggering disadvantage he already faced.

Still, he had no choice at this point – this group did not look as though they would let him leave, and he doubted that they wanted to invite him for a friendly _chat_.

One of his feet sliding slightly backwards to broaden his stance in preparation, he looked into the round, attempting to foresee from which direction the first attack would come.

He did not have to wait long. One of the young men, perhaps of Athena's age or barely older, came at him from behind with a yell, his approach so clumsy that Simon had to do nothing more than duck, grasp the kid's arm, and catapult him over his shoulder into a nearby wall. His opponent slid down on the bricks, unconscious.

Seeing one of their own fall only enraged the crowd more. An about 40-year-old man bellowed hoarsely, "Get him! Get the damn murderer! He can't fight us all off at once!"

Every member of the mob began to yell their own individual battle cry as they descended on Simon.

"You shoulda never come to our neighborhood!"

"We're gonna finish what the corrupt suits didn't have the guts to do!"

"Doesn't feel so good if you're convicted to death by your _peers_, eh?"

"You're not gonna scare us any longer!"

"Scum!"

"Cold-blooded killer!"

"State butcher!"

Simon fought back as well as he could, but it was immediately apparent how this battle would end. As blunt wooden and iron force descended on his arms and legs, shattering bone, as he felt the deadly sting of steel in his side, as he went tumbling to the ground and heavy boots connected with every part of his body, his mind was oddly unmoved, withdrawing into itself.

_This is how it ends – with being lynched for the crime of being who I am. _

Who would miss his perhaps irrevocably twisted presence once this ragtag group of vigilantes was finished with him? His feathered compatriot, certainly. Perhaps his sister and Athena, as much as they had given up for him. But otherwise?

There was no fear when he felt himself coughing up blood, when his vision began to blur and dim. He had been prepared for death six weeks ago. The pain, as excruciating as it was at the moment, would soon cease.

_Perhaps this is for the best._

It was not that he had lied to Athena after the retrial. He did not want to die. He would have never laid hand on himself to bring his own end about. But the harsh truth was that almost no one would shed a tear for the Twisted Samurai.

His consciousness was perilously close to slipping into darkness when he heard a rather grating male voice shout out, "HEY! Whaddaya think you're doing!? I'm calling the police!"

The assault stopped, just like that. Although every part of Simon's body screamed in agony, no more blows rained down on him, and the sound of multiple pairs of legs breaking into a run told him that his assailants were fleeing the scene.

He could not move. He could not see. While he was fighting for the last shred of his awareness to stay with him, a woman spoke up, high-pitched and frightened.

"Oh my god, Larry, that's that Blackquill prosecutor they released from prison. Don't go any closer, he's dangerous!"

The man who had shouted shushed her impatiently; he seemed to be on the phone with an emergency dispatcher. "Yeah… we're at… Letitia, honey, what was that road we turned off of again?"

The woman told him with a shaky voice; judging from the fact that it had become quieter, she had apparently taken multiple steps away from Simon's still form on the ground.

Her companion finished giving all necessary details to the person on the other end of the phone line – and then footfalls approached.

"No, Larry!'

"Lettie, _hush_! I gotta check if he's still alive – and you know what? Both Nick and Edgey seem to think he's safe enough, even if he's not lying in an alley bleeding out, and that's good enough for me, no matter what the papers say!"

Simon felt the man kneeling down next to him, a small rustle of air, warmth radiating off another human being.

"Hey. _Hey_. Mr. Twisty Samurai Prosecutor! I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm gonna check your pulse, okay?"

Two fingers awkwardly poked around on his neck until they found what they were looking for.

"Okay, you're still with us… hold on, the ambulance is coming."

Simon attempted to speak, an effort that seemed to be more and more insurmountable with each passing second. Another fresh spurt of blood emerged from his mouth when he ground out, "Don't know… if I can…"

"No, don't say that!" The man now sounded urgent. "C'mon, from what I hear, you're the master of holding on, no matter what! Keep talking, stay awake! The folks in my first aid course always say that everything will be fine as long as you can still talk to people – or was that my self-help group…?"

At the moment, laughter, which emerged as no more than a wheezing rasp, was the most agonizing thing in the world.

Simon _did _hold on, doing his best to keep up his end of the conversation until he heard the siren of an emergency vehicle drawing near, his consciousness clawing itself into the inane prattle of his savior, using it as an anchor. However, when he heard the back of the vehicle being opened and a stretcher being unfolded, reality suddenly became too smooth and slick to keep in his grasp any longer, the man's voice faded into the distance, and he succumbed to oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

_Light_ – pinkish-red brightness filtering through closed eyelids, driving the darkness away. With it came pain everywhere. Not all at once, and strangely dulled compared to the agony he had experienced shortly before everything had faded to black, but nevertheless ever-present.

_I'm alive._

He gradually became aware of other sensations once he had acknowledged that, for now, the aching soreness all over his body was here to stay. The strange feeling of something foreign in one of his nostrils, reaching down towards his throat and lower, secured by a strip of tape. Constricting hardness encasing his limbs. The beeping sounds of medical equipment, slightly speeding up as he found his way to full consciousness.

_Hospital._

Simon attempted to open his eyes. It took unreasonably long – his lids had never felt heavier in his entire life.

The beeps increased in speed yet again.

Finally, he managed to pry apart his caked-together lashes. A small victory, and yet apparently a pointless one for now, as he could not seem to focus his gaze just yet – everything was a blur.

Simon immediately revised his opinion when he noticed a human-shaped blob of orangeish-red and yellow huddled at the side of his bed, and realized that the warmth encasing the digits of his right hand was the result of smaller, slimmer fingers entwined with his own.

"A…"

There was no voice to accompany the air flowing out of his mouth when he tried to speak.

Simon swallowed weakly around the foreign object in his throat – a feeding tube, it seemed – and tried again.

"A… thena…"

Even though her name only came out in a whisper this time, his utterance was loud enough for her to stir. While his vision had yet to fully come into focus, he could see her sitting up and rub her face sleepily. Then, her eyes widened.

"You… you're coming around!"

Suddenly, Athena jumped up from her chair so rapidly that it fell backward with a clatter.

"I have to get the nurse! Stay awake, oh _please_, stay awake…"

Rapid footsteps on linoleum flooring. A door opening and closing. Silence.

While he was waiting for Athena to return, Simon gingerly attempted to move his extremities, but did not get particularly far beyond wiggling his fingers and toes. His sharpening vision, along with the copious amounts of white peeking out everywhere underneath the blanket which had been draped over him, did not leave him guessing at the reason for very long: much of his body was either wrapped in tight bandages, or fixated in casts. Running his dried-out tongue over his teeth, he could feel that he had lost at least three during the assault, and the area around one of his eyes felt swollen and sore.

He was still in the process of taking inventory of his injuries when the door opened once more, and then, Athena's voice reached his ears, her tone one of urgent pleading.

"Simon…?"

Clearing his throat hurt, but it helped in speaking up a little more clearly.

"Yes…"

She burst into tears as she sank back down into the chair next to the bed, once again holding on to his hand. The warmth of her touch cut through all of his aches and pains.

"I-I thought we were g-gonna lose you…"

This time, Simon did not manage to respond when he sought to calm her down; the dryness of his throat and the chafing sensation of the tube made him gag slightly, and then he began coughing, every hacking spasm causing the pain to flare up. A nurse stepped into view, holding him gently but firmly by the shoulders until the attack had subsided.

"Would you like some water, Mr. Blackquill?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Simon nodded slightly, and a moment later, the cool rim of a drinking vessel was held against his lips, then tilted toward him the merest bit.

He drank about half a glass of water over the course of the next ten minutes, sip by tiny sip, and felt with each swallow how the liquid soothed his parched mouth and rolled down his throat, revitalizing his vocal chords.

Finally, he shook his head just when the nurse was about to offer him more. "Enough."

The word, though croaked and quiet, emerged clearly.

The woman smiled down at him. "Of course. Well, I better see about getting the doctor to take a look at you, now that you're back with us. It'll only be a few minutes."

She left the room after that statement, and it was only after the door closed quietly behind her that Simon realized that she had not once hesitated in aiding him, even though she obviously knew who he was.

Athena leaned back forward into his field of view; her face was wet with tears.

"I'm sorry if I just upset you, I didn't mean to make a scene, but… you've been out of it for two weeks and two days. After you were brought in, the doctors decided to put you in an induced coma for a week once they were done with your surgeries, you were hurt so badly… and then, they took you off the drugs, but you just wouldn't wake up even after they were out of your system… we were all fearing the worst…"

Another small sob escaped her at the end of her statement, and her grip on his hand tightened.

Simon, too, closed his fingers around hers; the small movement took much more effort than it should have.

"… 'We?'"

He sincerely doubted that the plural pronoun indicated a large number of people; perhaps Athena was referring to Taka, or maybe she had had a chance to talk to his sister during the two weeks he had apparently spent unconscious.

She smiled down at him. "You've had a lot of visitors since they transferred you from the ICU. I was here pretty much all the time – I'm on leave at the moment. Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Gavin came to check on you almost every day, and Mr. Wright and Apollo were here pretty often, as well. They even let your sister out of jail twice for supervised visits. Junie stopped by, Jinxie Tenma was here, some detectives spent their lunch breaks here a few times… Oh, and then there was this guy called Larry Butz; the doctor told me that he was the one who found you."

Simon's eyes widened slightly as she rattled off the rather long list of people who had come to see him, and he made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat.

_Surely most of these people came by to support _her…_?_

Athena's sensitive hearing had caught on to his bafflement; her smile widened. "Don't believe me? Hold on…"

She rose from the chair and stepped out of his vision range, only to return with a rather large cardboard box a moment later, pulling out its contents and showing them to him. There were a lot of cards, but also a variety of other items – charms covered with Asian characters he recognized as symbolizing 'recovery,' audio books of "The Art of War" and a number of Japanese classics on a small mp3 player, paperbacks of recent bestsellers, a travel set of Chinese chess, a bag of wasabi-flavored Snackoos, and, for some odd reason, a somewhat droopy potted petunia.

"Mr. Butz brought the flowers – I guess he's an old friend of my boss and Mr. Edgeworth." Athena seemed amused.

_So that's whom he meant by 'Nick and Edgey.'_

"Also, a Detective Gumshoe wanted to bring you lunch boxes, but the doctors told him that he'd better save those until they take the feeding tube out. The Snackoos don't go bad as long as the bag is closed, so they got to stay – those are from Detective Skye, by the way."

Athena proceeded to read the cards to him one by one; their contents sounded sincere, told him that everyone hoped he would awaken and get better soon, explained the gifts each person had chosen. The Chinese chess board had been a present from Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, the mp3 player had come courtesy of Gavin, the charms were obviously of Nine Tales Vale origin, and the books had been provided by Justice, Wright and Ms. Woods.

Simon could barely believe it. All of these people had come here specifically to see _him_, and had left items they thought he would appreciate, along with written well-wishes?

Athena's smile softened at his obvious surprise.

"We all would've missed you so much if you hadn't pulled through... I'm just the only one here at the moment because Aura left a written statement that I get to be a family stand-in – visiting hours have been over for a while. If you'd woken up at around six, you'd have been surrounded by people – this place was pretty much _packed_."

Then, her expression became serious. "You should've seen the prosecutor's office and the precinct fly into a frenzy when they got wind of what happened to you… there were all kinds of official statements, and they started hunting for the people who did this to you right away. Prosecutor Gavin was leading the investigation. They caught ten people so far. The rest are still out there, but it's only a matter of time until they're all rounded up to stand trial."

She pulled up Widget's holographic screen and opened some recent newsfeeds, showing him a video of Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth coldly telling a slew of reporters that vigilantism, particularly against someone already proven to be innocent and thus solely based on prejudice, only contributed to the dark age of the law and would _not _be tolerated.

Another recording featured a group of detectives stating with grim expressions that they did not take kindly to one of their own being assaulted with the intent to kill, whether the victim was a member of the force or a prosecutor. Interestingly, Ms. Skye mentioned that the entire homicide department was waiting for _him _to pick his new regularly assigned detective when asked what it was like to work with him. Simon had assumed that the constantly changing investigators had something to do with no one wanting to be assigned to him, but apparently, the exact opposite was the case: Some detectives spoke of his methodical approach to cases with admiration and were positively _clamoring _for a permanent assignment.

_I have been so caught up in my self-pity that I never realized… _

People's immediate reactions whenever he uttered something abrasive did not reflect how they thought of him overall. No one who knew him personally seemed to find him off-putting. In fact, it appeared that he was _valued_.

Bafflement gave way to quiet contentment, in spite of the fact that he could barely move and every part of his body hurt.

The video was just reaching its end when the door opened. A moment later, a man in a white lab coat leaned into his field of view.

"Welcome back, Mr. Blackquill. I assume your friend has already told you that we weren't sure whether you were going to make it, so it's great to see you awake. Would you object to a few simple questions?"

The doctor asked Simon for his full name, his date of birth, his parents' names, and the name and location of his alma mater. Finally, he nodded.

"Very good. As you probably already know, you were put into an artificial coma after your emergency surgeries, as you suffered extensive injuries, including a subcranial hemorrhage and brain swelling. You might not remember, but just as the ambulance arrived at the scene, you went into a seizure due to the severe cranial trauma. No one could say for sure whether you would ever fully regain use of your senses or mental faculties even after initial treatment, but it seems that you were very, very lucky. Additionally, your spleen was ruptured and we had to remove a substantial portion of it, and you sustained several bone fractures, a few of them complex, as well as a number of stab wounds; thankfully, all of them missed your vital organs. Still, you required quite a few blood transfusions. If Mr. Butz had driven off your attackers thirty seconds later, we very likely would have lost you. As it is, you will have to stay here at the hospital for a while yet."

Simon managed a small nod. "I understand."

Focusing was becoming difficult once more, and the doctor seemed to notice that his patient was rapidly using up what little energy he had possessed after waking up.

"Well, it's getting late, and you will still need a lot of rest to recover. We can go over a tentative rehab timeline and further treatments tomorrow. If you can, try to sleep until morning."

He turned to Athena. "Make sure to not tax your friend too much, even if he's apparently over the worst of it."

She quickly shook her head. "I won't."

After the doctor had left, Athena turned off most of the lights in the room before returning to Simon's side. No further words were exchanged between them, and when he drifted off a few minutes later, the last thing he felt was her hand grasping his once more.


	4. Chapter 4

The following days proved to Simon what the cards and presents had already indicated: people visited with such frequency that Athena had to shush them out when she sensed that his strength was flagging.

On the first morning after his awakening, the feeding tube was removed, although he would be kept on a diet of liquids and gelatinous substances for a few more days before solid foods would be reintroduced. Shortly after the unpleasant procedure, there was a knock on the door.

It was Aura. This time, their roles were reversed: His sister was the one accompanied by guards and clapped in irons. Nevertheless, her escorts did not hold her back when she quickly stepped forward and hugged him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. A moment later, he began feeling a hint of moisture dampening his skin, and then, she sobbed quietly, "You _idiot_! Could you please _stop _trying to get yourself killed?"

While he could not return the gesture, Simon turned his head towards her, into the offered contact.

"I shall endeavor to do so in the future."

Her fist connected with his shoulder, one of the few places on his body not swathed in bandages, to deliver a not-entirely-serious punch.

"You better, or I swear I'm going to find some way to resurrect you and kill you _again_,right thereat your funeral. If nothing else, it's going to be payback for making _me _go prematurely grey, as well."

Simon smirked. "More than enough incentive to toe the line, sister dearest. I shudder to think what you would visit upon me."

That got her to chuckle. "Be afraid, little brother – be _very _afraid."

A sideways glance presented him with Athena, tears in her eyes and sporting a wide grin.

Aura only got to stay for thirty minutes, and did not say much more during her time at her brother's sickbed, but the frequent glances at him, as though she was afraid that he would suddenly vanish into thin air, spoke far louder than words.

A few hours later, Juniper Woods came by; she had brought her friends from ThemisAcademy along. All of the young people, even Hugh O'Conner and Myriam Scuttlebutt, who had more than enough reason to fear Simon, expressed their relief at learning that he would likely make a full recovery, and even when he could not help but quip that that would only enable him to once more keep an eye on them, O'Conner laughed. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Prosecutor Blackquill. After all, _someone _has to keep us on the straight and narrow!"

The little group stuck around until Simon was becoming too tired for the continued merrymaking, at which point Athena gently complimented the four students out of the door, as she had heard his exhaustion in his heart. After they had left, she smiled at him. "Sorry if they were getting to be too much… I'll put up the 'do not disturb' sign for a bit, so you can take a nap."

"Thank you." It was becoming easier to express his gratitude, now that he had been reduced to complete reliance on others. Perhaps something like this had needed to happen for Simon to break through the problematic habits he had acquired in the clink, where complete independence at all costs had been the name of the game. With this thought in his mind, he once more sank into healing sleep.

* * *

><p>After resting for a while, Simon was taking his lunch with Athena's help when another visitor was announced by a loud knock on the door. Without waiting to be called in, a thin, dishwater-blond man with a goatee entered the room.<p>

"Hello there, Athena – I can call you Athena, right? Nick let me know that your friend's awake, so I thought I'd check back in!"

She smiled. "Sure thing, Mr. Butz…"

"Larry, please. 'Mr. Butz' is my old man."

The visitor stepped closer. "And how are you doing, Mr. Twisty Samurai? It was pretty scary when you were shaking and foaming at the mouth just when they were about to load you up…"

_'Twisty…?'_

Simon now vaguely recalled a similarly garbled term of address when he had been close to passing out that night, a detail which only now surfaced in his memory. This Larry Butz character did not seem to be the brightest of sorts, but he _had _saved his hide.

"I have been better, as you can probably see, but I will recover in time, thanks to you. I have been told that your quick actions saved my life. You have my gratitude."

Butz waved off his words of appreciation. "Don't sweat it – friends of Nick and Edgey are _my_ friends, too!"

Simon, slightly taken aback by the ready familiarity, was going to set his savior's understanding of his relationship with Wright and Edgeworth straight when he saw Athena minutely shaking her head.

"… I see. Still, I am, and will remain, grateful."

Butz gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up gesture in response. "Always glad to help!"

* * *

><p>Larry Butz would leave an hour later, after inundating both Simon and Athena in a veritable flood of meaningless jabber, which nevertheless served to lift the former's spirits. It had been a while since someone other than Athena and Gavin had attempted to engage in small talk with him, and although he usually did not have much patience for platitudes and talk about the weather, he found himself enjoying the friendly company.<p>

When the man eventually departed, citing a date with his girlfriend Letitia (_the woman who was with him that evening – I suppose not everyone has shed their fear of me yet_), Simon was once again about ready to nod off. His weakness disconcerted him, even though he knew that it was only natural, considering his condition.

He awoke to find Athena in a quiet discussion with Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth, who must have arrived recently. They were talking in a language Simon did not understand, but was able to identify as German.

His superior was the first to realize that he was awake.

"Mr. Blackquill."

He nodded at Athena, who promptly walked over to the door, shutting it behind herself. Meanwhile, Edgeworth sat down at his bedside, a deep frown creasing his forehead. A few seconds of silence passed, then the chief prosecutor cleared his throat.

"I've had a lot of time to think about my management of your exoneration since your assault, and I can't help but feel that I should have done _something _to ensure the public understood that you were innocent beyond that single press conference."

His superior looked away, one hand at the other arm's elbow. "I bear some responsibility for what happened, especially since I had no _idea _that you were residing in that area… something else I should have considered. I apologize for what you had to go through, and for not thinking about the consequences you had to bear due to my mishandling of the situation, including housing discrimination – after all, I sincerely doubt that you chose your current address because you enjoyed the ambience."

Simon was unsure how to respond to Edgeworth's remorse, and remained quiet.

After a long moment, the chief prosecutor spoke up once more. "I just discussed with Ms. Cykes how we can ensure that you're given fair consideration when filling out a rental application. If you would give us permission to do so, we will attempt to find more suitable accommodations for you before your release."

The sudden offer put Simon before a difficult choice: Willingly relying on acquaintances to improve his circumstances was not something he had indulged in in a _very _long time; in fact, he had fought against them tooth and nail when it had come to his exoneration. On the other hand… he _was _not particularly enamored with his current apartment. Furthermore, he obviously could not change his living situation by himself at the moment, as he would likely be confined to this hospital bed for a while yet. And finally… allowing his superior and his friend to do this for him would prove his regard for them in ways his words often failed to convey.

He knew how he had to answer.

"I would appreciate your help."

The chief prosecutor nodded, and although his expression remained grave, the way his posture relaxed informed Simon of his relief.

"We will begin our search sometime in the next few days. Before we hand you anything to sign, we will provide pictures of the place, so you know what we have been looking at."

Simon nodded his understanding. "Thank you."

His superior rose from the chair. "I've been told that you are still supposed to rest for most of the day, so I won't keep you from doing so any longer. Needless to say, I hope you will be back on your feet soon – we're all looking forward to having you back at the office."

There was little he could reply to that, other than, "I will do my best, sir."

* * *

><p>Later days passed much like the first one: Athena remained by his side almost constantly, only once in a while leaving for an hour to freshen up or procure food for herself. A number of other people stopped by during official visiting hours: Larry Butz, Edgeworth, Klavier. The latter informed Simon of the fact that all of his assailants had been apprehended, and that the judge was more than ready to throw the book at them. Afterwards, his serious expression segued into a smile.<p>

"Once you're out of here… my invitation to go to the gym together still stands."

A number of detectives also visited, and now that Simon knew what to look for, he could tell that they were waiting for an official endorsement from him. Not that some of them were particularly subtle about it – at one point, Detectives Skye and Gumshoe got into a loud argument about who should be the one to work with him, the female detective declaring that she _deserved _to be assigned to someone who appreciated the scientific method more than "that glimmerous fop Gavin," while the burly man contended that, since Prosecutor Edgeworth had been promoted, he had not had a consistent assignment whatsoever. Eventually, a nurse asked them both firmly to leave, at which point they left with looks on their faces that reminded Simon of a kicked puppy.

When the Themis gang came by next, they had Jinxie Tenma in tow, who was over the moon when she found that her talismans were obviously helping Simon in his recovery (or so she claimed). He did not object to her interpretation of things.

On the third day, Simon, who was now strong enough to stay awake for most of the day once more, heard a commotion in the corridor just before the door of his room was pushed open and Phoenix Wright strode in in a panic, with Taka clawed into his spiky hair.

"Prosecutor Blackquill, _please _tell your bird to get off my head!"

At this point, laughing uproariously did not hurt so much anymore that Simon had to deny himself the amusement.

A quick whistle through almost-closed lips, as he could not use his fingers at the moment, and his feathered compatriot landed on his chest, eyeing him curiously.

"Hello, my friend. My apologies for vanishing on you."

Wright and Justice stuck around to play a few rounds of poker with him, with Athena holding Simon's cards and Taka perching on the IV stand, to the consternation of the nurse.

After a week had passed, he put his foot down regarding his young friend's constant companionship, telling her that her prolonged presence at his sickbed would have to come to an end.

"You can't stay here until I get released, Athena. If you continue to sleep in a chair and eat nothing but junk food for a few more weeks, you'll end up in the room next door. Visit every day if you wish, but you need to go back to work, and to your own bed."

She glared at him, obviously ready to launch into an argument – only to be thwarted by a wide yawn.

Embarrassment evident on her features, Athena conceded, "You're right… it's just, I don't wanna leave you here all alone…"

Simon chuckled. "I won't be. You have seen how many people visit, although I do appreciate the sentiment."

He _did _miss her steady presence thereafter, but it was good to see that she was much more rested when she came to visit after business hours most days, whenever she was not apartment hunting with Edgeworth.

His superior also stopped by quite often, to keep him updated on the happenings at the office and to play Chinese chess with him. Gavin, Justice, and Wright sometimes arrived together, leading to a number of poker games.

Four weeks after his awakening, the casts on his arms were taken off, returning a measure of mobility to Simon. His legs were still in the process of healing, as the fractures in his lower extremities had been more complex and required more time without bearing his weight, but he could now eat his food on his own once more, hold a book, or change the TV channel without having to call a nurse for aid. As the bandages and stitches of the various wounds on his torso had also been removed, he was now able to sit up and begin rehabilitation exercises to regain his upper body strength. However, the greatest relief came when the hospital provided him with a wheelchair for the time being, allowing him to go to the bathroom or leave the dreary room altogether, should he so desire. Truth be told, he had had more than enough of being confined, and of the indignity of catheters and bedpans.

Finally, two whole months after his assault, the doctors greenlighted the removal of Simon's leg casts, but strongly warned him against overdoing it right away – it would take at least another two weeks until he would be able to walk more than a few dozen steps at a time. Rehab exercise was excruciating and exhausting, but little by little, he regained full control over his body.

Half a week before he was to leave the hospital, Athena and Edgeworth presented him with a rent contract for one of the apartments they had viewed in his stead – pet-friendly, with spacious rooms and within manageable walking distance from the office. Simon had a hard time looking them in the eye as he mumbled his thanks and scrawled his signature on the line at the bottom, but it seemed as though both of them understood how grateful he was.

Eventually, the big day came: He was discharged. At the moment, he was still walking on crutches, and he would have to see a dentist to get his teeth repaired one of these days, but his long period of helplessness and dependence was at an end.

Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth drove him to his new residence, and it only occurred to Simon when the red sports car came to a halt in front of a modern-looking building that, as he had rented furnished before, he would likely spend tonight sleeping on the floor. However, he was not entirely sure how to bring up this thought, so he silently followed his superior into the building.

When they had arrived in front of his new apartment, Edgeworth handed him a set of keys. "Here you are."

Simon nodded in acknowledgment, and proceeded to unlock the door.

Everyone was waiting inside – Athena, Justice, Wright and his daughter, the Themis gang, Butz and his girlfriend, Jinxie and Damian Tenma, Aura with her guards, Gavin, and an assortment of police detectives.

"SURPRISE!"

Not only that, they had apparently foreseen his furniture problem, and remedied it. While the place was still mostly empty, there _was _a bed, complete with mattress, sheets, and pillows, alongside a table and a few chairs. Somehow, the basic but sturdy items, freely presented to him, seemed to symbolize that he had now truly arrived at the start of a new life, one filled with friendly acquaintances who were not about to permanently shy away from him.

Before he knew it, a smile appeared on Simon's lips.

At long last, he was free.


End file.
